


The Mystery of Mustafar Moor

by rudbeckia



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Pastiche, Sherlock Holmes AU, conan doyle pastiche, hound of the baskervilles au, not bbc sherlock at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Armitage Hux (a well known private detective) is summoned by Phasma (a village police captain) to investigate the mysterious death of old Sir Snoke of Mustafar Hall. Armitage arrives at Mustafar Hall with his loyal assistant Dopheld Mitaka, where he meets the handsome and compelling Sir Ben - Snoke’s legal heir.Armitage must work out how Snoke died whilst around him people live in superstitious fear of the so-called Beast of the Moor. When Sir Ben’s tenant shepherd, Thanisson, is mauled, Armitage and Dopheld begin to work out the means and motive for the murder.The tricky part is figuring out who will be the next victim in time to warn them of their fate. While Armitage tackles this problem at Mustafar Hall with Sir Ben, Dopheld gets lost on the moor and finds extra clues in the form of three strangers from out of town living in a village nearby.





	The Mystery of Mustafar Moor

Mist swirled in the air lit up ahead of the car by the meagre headlights, making shifting shapes in the grey night. Above hung a moon so thin that it seemed to cut the sky and peer through the wound at a road barely more than a couple of rutted tracks worn into the moorland, saved from slipping into bog by rubble and broken flagstones laid straight as an arrow by an older civilisation. Armitage Hux cursed as the car bounced across yet another pothole.  
“Sorry sir,” the driver said over the rattle of the engine. “I’m going as carefully as I can but this road was not designed with vehicles like this charabanc in mind.”  
“This road,” Armitage declared, “was designed by an engineer who had no notion that anything other than the Roman Army’s boots would ever want to cross this blasted moor. Are we nearly there yet, Dopheld?”  
“Yes, sir.” Dopheld Mitaka returned his full attention to the task of safely traversing the moor. “Our progress is impeded by the lack of Roman navigational engineers to maintain this road in its proper condition, but Mustafar Hall should be just up ahead. I think I see the gates.”  
“Well, Dopheld,” said Armitage with a snigger. “I do hope Sir Ben can inform you of where we might find a good navvy to set your mood to rights.”

Dopheld brought the car to a standstill on the gravel in front of the hall. He dropped to the ground and walked around to open his employer’s door and assist him out. As Armitage’s boots crunched the gravel, both men entered a state of high alert: hands gripping one another and heads up, staring this way and that for the source of the terrible noise — an unholy yowl — that seemed to emanate from the very mist that surrounded them.

Armitage tutted and laughed, as much for his own relief as to set Dopheld’s mind at ease.  
“A wild creature, but timid around humankind, I expect. There are few truly wild beasts left in places such as this!” He lifted one hand to cup his mouth. “Come, wolf! Show your bloodied jaws! Or are you merely the wind blown across a chimney pot?”  
Dopheld shook his arms and laughed. “Indeed, sir, no living creature could make a sound such as that unearthly howl. Come, sir, I have our bags and no doubt warmth awaits within.”

Sir Ben greeted his guests himself, but his greeting was far from cordial.  
“You need not have taken such trouble,” he began. “I informed the good Captain Phasma that there was no case to investigate. My benefactor died of a heart attack and it is a common enough affliction. He was old and not in the best of health as anyone hereabouts can tell you.” Sir Ben rang a bell and a pair of white-clad footmen appeared and took their luggage up the broad staircase. “But I will not have it said that I keep a cold grate. You are welcome. Please join me for supper when you are settled.”

With that, Sir Ben vanished through a doorway into a room where Armitage could see the flickering glow of firelight. A footman appeared and spoke in a clipped voice, “This way, sirs. Follow me,” then marched off upstairs. Dopheld trotted to keep up but Armitage followed at a more sedate pace, examining his surroundings.

From their upstairs rooms, Dopheld looked out over the moor. The hellish sound assaulted their ears once more and Dopheld opened the window and leaned out to see better.  
“There! Armie? Did you see?”  
Armitage slipped his hand around Dopheld’s waist. “I saw but a glimpse of a reflection of moonlight in water. Doph, close the window and let this room warm up. I am more afraid of catching a chill than of succumbing to the maw of some fantastical creature.”  
Dopheld did as he was bade then turned to Armitage and offered him a kiss. _“You’re_ a fantastical creature,” he said, smiling.  
Armitage squeezed Dopheld’s rump. “No. _Y_ _ou_ are. Come, it looked warm downstairs and I want to get Sir Ben’s perspective on this matter before it is skewed by the port he had clearly been imbibing before we arrived. His dark-stained lips gave him away. Bring your notebook.”

Sir Ben was in better humour when Armitage and Dopheld joined him for supper.  
“Please excuse my ill temper earlier,” he said. “I have rarely entertained guests since old Sir Snoke’s passing. It was such a shock, although not a surprise. I believe Captain Phasma expressed concern that his visage was twisted into a grimace of terror when he died, but I am of the opinion that facing one’s own mortality would be quite terrifying in its own right if one was not sure...” he pointed up and then down and shrugged, “...of one’s destination.”

“Indeed,” replied Armitage with a nod. “I wondered, if it were not too troubling, whether you could relate what you know. My assistant, Dopheld Mitaka, will keep notes.”  
Sir Ben nodded. He poured three glasses of sweet, deep red wine, sat back and met first Dopheld’s gaze then Armitage’s.

“I travelled here from the New World at the request of my benefactor. Sir Snoke has had an interest in my family, and particularly me, for many years. As he has no close relatives of his own, he had some time ago and unbeknownst to me, named me as his sole heir. As you may know, I am of noble but impoverished lineage and I suspect that Snoke thought to strengthen his standing by association with the house of Vader.”

Armitage frowned and leaned forward. Dopheld scribbled glyphs of his own devising. “So you are the grandson of Lord Vader? That rumour is true?”  
“I am proud to say that it is!” retorted Sir Ben. “My parents sought to distance themselves from his politics but I find him inspirational.”  
“Quite!” Armitage smiled and sat back. “I was concerned that I would find you to be a moderate sympathiser like those loathsome _resistance_ types who are always stirring up trouble. All must bow down to law and order, I say!”  
“Indeed, I think you will get along very well with the good Captain when she calls round tomorrow,” said Sir Ben, smiling. “You have heard of the _First_   _Order_ party? Sir Snoke was a founding member.”  
“That is a subject to which we will return, if it pleases you to discuss politics!” Armitage beamed at Sir Ben. Dopheld wrote and held his tongue. “But in the meantime, your tale?’

“Ah yes,” Sir Ben furrowed his brow as he recalled the day he had arrived. “Sir Snoke summoned me to his side. He had been feeling unwell and wanted me to help him set his affairs in order, so I booked passage and telegraphed ahead to say that I was on my way. Sir Snoke greeted me like a long lost son and soon we had his papers set to right. Imagine my surprise when he revealed his plans to me in full! I was dumbfounded with pride to be informed that I was to be his successor and executor of his estate. The next morning, Thanisson found him dead and cold on the moor just beyond the gate and called Captain Phasma, suspecting foul play. The doctor pronounced him dead of heart failure. There my story ends, for what it’s worth.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” said Armitage with a solemn expression. “I would like to speak with this Thanisson, if I may?”  
“Of course,” replied Sir Ben with a nod. “He and his sister Miss Unamo keep sheep on the moors. I will send word in the morning. If it is not too rude, may I bid you both goodnight? Should anything trouble you...” Sir Ben shook hands with Dopheld then Armitage, holding on to Armitage’s slim hand with both of his and looking deep into his eyes, “...please do not hesitate to rouse me. My room is the first on the upper floor.”  
Sir Ben left and Armitage let out a long sigh. Dopheld nudged him with his shoulder and murmured, _”setting your own sights a little higher than a simple, hard-working navvy, sir?”_  
Armitage laughed softly and murmured back, _”Our good host looks to be no stranger to physical work. I wager he has a torso Michelangelo would not be ashamed to paint on the Sistine Chapel frieze.”_

Armitage and Dopheld retired to their own guest room and went directly to bed. It was a bad night for sleep. From the dark of the moor, howls and screams reached their ears and woke Dopheld long before the sky lightened. He clung tightly to Armitage until morning dawned as grey and cold as the lichen-crusted limestone that formed the facade of Mustafar Hall. Dopheld rose first, reluctant to leave the shared warmth of their bed, dressed quickly and laid out warm clothes for Armitage. Armitage followed soon after and the pair ventured downstairs in search of breakfast. A commotion of muddled voices from the kitchens caught their ears and Dopheld went to investigate. He returned in moments and called for Armitage to make ready to go out onto the moor.  
“Whatever is all this fuss?” demanded Armitage. “I can hardly be expected to go for a brisk hike before my morning coffee.”  
“I am afraid that coffee has not been prepared this morning due to the entire staff forming a search party for one of their own. Thanisson the shepherd is missing, it seems. His sister, Miss Unamo, arrived at the servants’ entrance shortly after daybreak in a state of high emotion because her brother is not to be found.”

Miss Unamo was escorted to the dining room at Armitage’s insistence. “Are you sure that he’s missing?” Armitage demanded of Miss Unamo, still quite distraught with tears over her brother’s absence.  
“Indeed, sir!” she replied. “He went out last night before dark to check that the sheep were not straying too far. God forgive me, I fell asleep by the fire and did not wake until dawn. My brother had not returned or he would have woken me. Some misfortune has surely befallen him! Please, I beg you, find my brother before the beast does!”  
“Oh come, come, Miss. There is no beast. Why would you say such a thing?” Armitage tutted and shook his head as he spoke. “I am sure there can be no creature, either natural or supernatural, stalking the moor. Why, such a beast would be a fine prize for any hunter! Were it to exist, the villages hereabouts would be a-buzz with hunters from home and abroad with their rifles and shotguns ready to take aim at anything that moved! No.” Armitage sat back, satisfied with the power of his logical reasoning. “There are no beasts more dangerous than the domestic sheep, the care of which forms your livelihood, and the wild ponies that shy away as one approaches.”

Miss Unamo dried her eyes with the large, red handkerchief that Dopheld had given her for that purpose and looked straight at Armitage with a grim set to her jaw. She leaned forwards and spoke with firm determination. “Then how do you account for the footprints, mister Hux? When old Master Snoke was found, my brother told me that the footprints in the mud showed that he had run for his life and nearby were the prints of a huge beast. How could the prints exist without the presence of the beast who stood in that very spot and frightened old Master Snoke to death?”

Armitage dismissed Miss Unamo and took charge of the search party himself, as Captain Phasma had been called but would be delayed by unrest in the nearby hamlet of Tuanul. Under his expert direction, they walked spread out so as not to miss anything. Too stricken to join the search party, Unamo returned to the bothy she lately shared with her brother, promising to send out should he return unharmed. The household, including Sir Ben himself, formed a line and walked slowly in the direction of the Thanisson flock. Armitage called out instructions that were shouted down the line from searcher to searcher, voices muffled by the mist rising form the marshy ground. It was cold, miserable work, full of grumbles that fell silent when reminded of the gravity of the task. A man might be injured. He could have fallen and twisted an ankle, broken a bone. Unable to move, the shepherd could be at this moment dying of nothing more sinister than the cold and wet that sucked warmth from living bones. Calls came muted through the damp air, but were not answered.

_Thanisson! Baaaah! Thanisson! Flossie!_

Before the search party had ventured more than a few hundred yards from the back of Mustafar Hall, a scream rang above the mist. Armitage yelled _HALT!_ and the order was echoed down the line. Armitage and Dopheld hurried over tussocks and through knee-high sucking cold to the source of the scream.  
“What! What have you—“  
Armitage had no need of finishing his inquiry. In plain sight, rigid with terror and quite dead, lay Thanisson the shepherd.

Dopheld stumbled over to Armitage’s side and held back the hands that would have lifted the unfortunate man from his resting place. He examined the man’s face, noting his twisted visage and wide, horror-filled eyes, clenched fists, blood stained shirt and once-fine overcoat no longer in fashion even in a backwater such as this, with patched elbows and darned seams. Sir Ben caught up and blanched visibly. He rocked back on his feet and stayed upright only by the swift action of Armitage to hold him so against gravity while Dopheld finished his examination and nodded to the servants to lift the poor unfortunate clear of the bog and bear him back to the hall.

The tragic turn of events cast a pall over the remainder of the day. Armitage expressed a desire to see Sir Ben’s library and spend quiet hours in contemplation. Dopheld desired fresh air to blow the wool from his mind. Dry and wrapped against the cold, and armed with a revolver more for his own peace of mind than defence against the beast of the moor, Dopheld set off from the hall. Armitage let himself into Sir Ben’s library and trailed his fingers lightly over the leather-bound spines of the volumes that crammed the shelves.  
“Oh!” Armitage took a step to the side when a hand dropped onto his shoulder. “Please accept my apologies, Sir Ben. I did not intend to intrude.”  
“It would be recompense enough for the intrusion if you were to call me simply _Ben._ I did not use my title in the Americas and nor would I here if the natives did not demand it.” Sir Ben smiled and took Armitage by the hand. “I see that your assistant has deserted you for the afternoon. May I entertain you in his stead?”

 

Dopheld walked out onto the moor. How far he was not sure and landmarks were few and far between in the wind-swept desolation. What may have been the last remnant of a Roman military road took him directly up and over one of the many tors where he could rest on one of the numerous limestone outcroppings and survey the land around him. As for living beasts, he saw the sheep that Thanisson and his sister had tended, sturdy ponies that regarded him with nervous interest and narrow tracks in the rough grass that suggested rabbits and deer. Of a creature capable of tearing at the throat of a man, he saw no trace. But he heard: a howl in the wind, a screech in the air, a snarl ever at his back. The sun sank early and fast on a moorland winter and Dopheld had no desire to be kept out beyond twilight. As the first touch of grey stole colour from the grass, he turned to retrace his steps.

Night fell faster than Dopheld ever thought possible. Accustomed to the lamplight and pavements of the city, his eyes were as unused to starlight as his feet were to uneven moorland and he stumbled blindly. He struggled forwards, not knowing whence his path led but certain that to stop was to die of the cold and the damp. Downhill he went with the sound of trickling water in his ears, reasoning that water flowed into valleys and to follow such a flow meant he would reach a stream then a river and thence habitation with welcoming candlelight in the windows and warm firelight in the hearths. Yet no such sight comforted him. Dopheld would have feared and despaired were it not for a scrap of cloth in his pocket: evidence that proved to him that there was no foul and unnatural beast stalking random strangers in this blasted land, but one of merely natural provenance. He took the scrap out and examined its contents by feel in the dark of night, noting the rough, oily texture of the clump of umber hair that had been caught in Thanisson’s fist as he breathed his last.

A light guided him to a dwelling that he had not seen on his way out and he realised with a stab of fear that melted into relief that he had been utterly lost but was saved from a night on the moor.  
“Hey! Hey there!” Dopheld called out as he approached. “I am lost! Can you direct me to—“  
“Mustafar Hall. We know. Come inside, this is no night to be out.”  
Dopheld followed the female voice with a city accent until he reached the cottage and entered it.  
“Oh, thank you from the bottom of my heart! I should have been lost on the moor and suffered the same fate as the shepherd, Thanisson, I feared.”  
“Stay tonight,” said the young woman who had called him in. “The moor at night is no place for such as us.” She turned and called, “Finn! Poe!”  
Her call brought two to her side. Dopheld directed his words to the dark young gentleman and his exceedingly handsome friend who addressed his companions at first in a foreign tongue. “Please, direct me to Mustafar Hall and send me on my way.”  
The man named Finn shook his head. “No, my good man. You will stay with us tonight. Have you not heard of the supernatural beast that roams the moor and kills as it pleases? Come now, you must join us for supper and we will tell one another tales of the beast and of Sir Snoke of Mustafar Hall. Tomorrow is soon enough for your return to Sir Ben.”  
“Indeed,” said handsome Poe. “We will serve you supper, set your hair on end with tales of the evil forces commanded by that family, and then should you want it you will have the warmth of my bed for comfort after.”

 

As the sun rose, Armitage grew restless in Sir Ben’s embrace. “I would prefer if Dopheld were here,” he said with a sour face.  
“I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment as long as he is not of a jealous nature,” Sir Ben with a knowing smile. “I have always maintained that three heads are better than two when discussing matters of a political nature. Or do you mean that you wish his arms held you instead of mine?”  
“I mean only that I wish I knew Dopheld’s whereabouts. He went for a walk upon the moor to clear his head and has not yet returned,” said Armitage with some measure of annoyance.  
“Why, I would never have believed it!” Sir Ben exclaimed with a smile. “The great Armitage Hux concerned that his companion might be attacked by the very beast in which he professes to entertain no belief?”  
“Not at all!” snapped Armitage. “Dopheld is a military man and a competent marksman — more than a match for any wild beast of malign intent that he might encounter.”  
Sir Ben sat up and swung his feet out of bed, standing to stretch in the grey light that filtered through heavy curtains. Armitage watched his graceful movements. Sir Ben turned to Armitage and asked, “Then what the devil do you imagine might have befallen him, to have you so rattled?”  
Armitage replied, “Sir Ben, have you entertained the possibility that the deaths your benefactor and your tenant shepherd have the most human origin of all?”  
“And what is that?” enquired Sir Ben.  
“Simple greed! I believe Sir Snoke was murdered for his inheritance, poor unfortunate Thanisson witnessed too much and died before he could give a full and legally admissible account of what he saw, and you are most likely the next target. Whoever is avaricious enough to kill two people and plan to murder a third would hardly pause in the process of doing away with anyone investigating these beast-attributed deaths and dressing it up in simple country superstition.”  
Sir Ben paced the room. “But why?” he demanded of Armitage. “What good would it do them? I have no heir either and if I were to die intestate the hall and its lands would revert to the crown. Why would anyone kill me to benefit the Duke of Devonshire?”  
Armitage rose from Sir Ben’s bed, shivered in the cold air, stood close and facing him and took his hands. “You say that Sir Snoke had no living relatives. How certain of that are you?”  
Sir Ben held Armitage’s gaze for a few seconds then sighed deeply. “My dear Armitage, I had his own word on that matter. He took an interest in genealogy as many rich men of leisure do and could state with some confidence that he had no true, legitimate heir of his own. Do you suspect—”

“—Armitage! Sir Ben!”  
The door to Sir Ben’s private chamber burst open and Dopheld entered in a state of some alarm.  
“Oh thank goodness, there you are.” Dopheld calmed as he took stock of his surroundings. “Please pardon the abrupt manner of my return! But I am sure you will forgive my intrusion once I explain my conduct. Armitage, Sir Ben, I beg that you will humour me. Throw on your dressing gowns at once and come downstairs to the warmth of the dining room where I will give you a full account of my activities since we parted!”

Settled at the curved end of the oval dining table with their coffee cups filled, Dopheld recounted all he had found out from the strange trio at the lonely cottage, which turned out to be located at the very edge of the village of Yavin only a mile or two along the rough road that had recently brought them to Mustafar Hall. Dopheld set his cup on its saucer and looked earnestly from Sir Ben to Armitage and back again.  
“You must think me quite the disagreeable guest, Sir Ben. But I believe your life to be in danger.”  
“Indeed! Armitage has already come to that same conclusion!” Sir Ben got up to fetch the fresh pot of coffee brought in by a white-uniformed servant and refilled their cups. “You are certain the young man referred to himself as Sir Snoke’s great-grandson? This is a most worrisome lie!”  
Armitage looked thoughtfully at Sir Ben. “If I may be indelicate for a moment — are you sure, Sir Ben, that when you and Sir Snoke went through all of his papers, that there was no evidence of any illegitimate offspring? Perhaps from some youthful dalliance during his travels as a young man making his way in the world?”  
Sir Ben frowned and shook his head. “No indeed! I am sure if such a man were to exist, Sir Snoke would have made the matter known to me.”  
“If I may,” said Dopheld, “I also found—“  
“—Thank you for this additional information, Dopheld! You must be in need of a change of clothing after your adventure on the moors,” Armitage said as he stood up. “Please excuse me also, Sir Ben. I would very much like to speak with this young man myself.”

Upstairs in their guest chamber, Armitage signed at Dopheld to say no more. They dressed in clean, warm clothing and Armitage loaded his revolver with the oddest looking bullets Dopheld had ever seen, then slipped the gun into his holster.  
“Is your weapon loaded?” Armitage asked, pointing at Dopheld’s hip.  
“I should say so!” replied Dopheld. “You can count on me in that respect.”  
Armitage smiled and cupped Dopheld’s cheek. “I count myself very fortunate to have you by my side. Did you have a pleasant evening with our mysterious neighbours whilst you gathered information pertinent to our case?”  
Dopheld smiled as he replied, “Why I did indeed, Armitage. Once I accepted that I could not find Mustafar Hall in the dead of night, a handsome foreigner taught me a thing or two that I am most keen to demonstrate.”  
“Alas, my dear Dopheld, such pleasures will have to wait until this case is solved. Fortunately I have it here.” Armitage tapped his forehead. “All I lack is the evidence needed to prove my conclusion to a jury of dullards.”

On their way out of Mustafar Hall, Sir Ben called Dopheld back.  
“Hi, hi, I noticed that your coat is wet through from last night’s adventure. Please take this one of Sir Snoke’s since he will have no need of it. You have been so kind as to inconvenience yourself on my behalf, I would like to repay you just a little.”  
Sir Ben held up a warm, woollen coat. It was not new but it was still very serviceable. He accepted with thanks and put the coat on. Once up on the moor road that led to the village of Yavin, Armitage questioned Dopheld closely on his evening. Dopheld explained about the scrap of tawny fur, and the story of the man called Finn.

“While still a young man, Snoke travelled to South America to oversee the family’s mining interests. In a distant land, he encountered a young woman whom he found alluring and embarked upon a short affair. He returned home without ever giving the woman and her plight a second thought. She gave birth to a boy who became Finn’s grandfather. He married and had a family and so on as these things happen. They fell into poverty when Snoke closed the mine for lack of profit, and Finn’s mother thought to contact Sir Snoke and ask for mercy. Snoke agreed to allow the family’s only son to come and work at Mustafar Hall on condition of silence and secrecy, but young Finn had no stomach for the treatment he received from Sir Snoke and ran away to London, where he met Miss Rey and Poe. Miss Rey persuaded Finn that he should return upon Snoke’s death and make a claim on the estate as Snoke’s heir.”

Armitage nodded. “Dopheld you are an instrument of genius. I had the motive all worked out and, I believe, the means, but I had everything else all topsy turvy until your return. If I am right, and I am sure that I am, Finn and his friends are in grave danger, as are you as long as you wear old Sir Snoke’s garb. You must have noticed that Thanisson wore clothes that had once been fine but were now cast offs. Sir Snoke’s old clothing charitably given away, I thought, but I was quite incorrect in that assumption. We must hurry.”  
The two companions quickened their pace. Halfway to the village, three figures loomed out of the morning mist that pooled in the dips in the moor, and one called out.  
“Hi! Is that you Dopheld?”  
“It is!” replied Dopheld, smiling at the sound of Poe’s voice. “And I have Armitage Hux with me. Are Finn and Miss Rey with you?”  
“Right here,” called Finn, his features revealed as the mist thinned a little around them. “We are on our way to Mustafar Hall to contest Snoke’s will.”  
“Then all your evidence is in order?” asked Armitage once the five stood facing one another in the road.  
“It is, sir!” Finn nodded and Miss Rey patted a ribbon-bound portfolio.  
A low growl made them halt and turn, looking this way and that, Dopheld and Armitage with their weapons drawn, peering into the morning mist.  
“Who’s there!” called Dopheld. “Show yourself!”  
Out of the mist leapt a ghostly beast with claws that slashed like daggers and teeth that flashed yellow and white. It growled again and, being without weapons, the three from the village backed away slowly. Dopheld fired once but only enraged the beast which leapt upon him, causing him to fall, and began to maul him with a savagery that made Armitage tremble with fear at the sound of his screams. Armitage fired once and the beast yelped then resumed its brutal attack on Dopheld. Miss Rey yelled and ran forward brandishing her walking staff, delivering a hefty blow upon the beast’s hindquarters and making it release Dopheld’s throat to snarl and snatch at the staff. Armitage shot again and the beast fell sideways. Its paws twitched a few times then it lay silent.

Armitage rushed over to Dopheld while the other three hung back. He called to them, “He lives! If you value this man’s life as I do, carry him swiftly back to your village and have your doctor see to his injuries immediately.”  
Poe ran forward and lifted the unconscious body of Dopheld Mitaka. Finn led the way. With Miss Rey bringing up the rear, holding her staff ready to defend them from further attack, the friends bore Dopheld away to safety. Armitage recovered Dopheld’s revolver then he scrambled away from the road to wait hidden behind a large outcropping.

The sun had burned off much of the mist and from his vantage point, Armitage had a good view of the road and part of the moor beyond. He could clearly hear hurried footsteps approach. Armitage leapt out of his hiding place and levelled both his revolver and Dopheld’s at the chest of the man who stood in the road beside the stricken beast. Armitage sighed.  
“You are under arrest for the murders of Sir Snoke and Thanisson, and the attempted murder of Dopheld Mitaka. In addition, you will be investigated for attempting to defraud Finn of his rightful inheritance and for the act of plotting to murder Snoke’s true heir. Remain where you are. If you move, I will shoot.”  
“You are a clever man, Armitage,” said Sir Ben. “Join me. Those three are members of the resistance you despise so much. Let your assistant die from his injuries. Go meet them with a smile on your face and use Dopheld’s gun to kill the three of them then join me at Mustafar Hall. Think of all we could achieve for _The First Order_ with Snoke’s money and your passion for politics!”  
Armitage frowned deeply at Ben. “That is a most disordered course of action! You are an unlawful murderer.”  
“But think of all we discussed across my pillow last night! Armitage, I implore you to join me.” Ben kept his hands up but took a careful step forward. “Together we can bring order to this unlawful country. We can give Captain Phasma and other military organisations power to quell rebellious actions. We can impose order on those who do not know that strict laws are good for them. Imagine a country governed by order and ruled by me with you at my side! Armitage, lower your weapons. Do not slaughter me as you have slaughtered my beautiful beast!”

Armitage lowered his weapons, wondering even as he did so why he felt such a compulsion to obey, and if this was to be his last moment on Earth. “Your tigress is merely stunned. I shot her with two tranquilliser darts of my own devising. She should recover within the hour,” he said. “I will not allow Dopheld to die.”  
“He is a witness,” said Ben in a low and even tone that Armitage found strangely captivating. “He must die and be blamed for the killing of the resistance trio.”  
Armitage sighed and studied the two revolvers in his hands. His frown cleared and he met Sir Ben’s gaze directly. “No,” he said, firing one of his weapons and watching Sir Ben falter and fall. “I will bring order on my own terms and with Dopheld by my side.” He shot one more dart into Sir Ben, waited for the tranquilliser to empty from the specially modified chamber of the dart he had designed himself, recovered all traces of the darts from man and tiger, paused to murmur to the beautiful beast,  _”I will capture you when your task here is complete and you can live safe as my pet. I think I will call you Millicent. Do you like that pretty name?”_ and walked away in the direction of the village.

When Captain Phasma, alerted by Miss Rey that there was a wild beast on the moorland road towards Mustafar Hall, reached the scene of the attack, she found only the partially eaten body of Sir Ben dragged some way off the road as evidence that the Beast of the Moor was alive and well.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks if you got this far! I am playing with different writing styles and I felt like trying a Conan Doyle pastiche. Wow that man liked words, and when I read the original Sherlock Holmes stories I am mentally brandishing a red pencil. However, Conan Doyle published the stories serialised in a magazine and probably had a word target :P


End file.
